The Witching Hour
by Audrey Bogart
Summary: "And come he slow, or come he fast,It is but Death who comes at last." - Sir Walter Scott. Zombies and conspiracies await Leon as he leads a group of survivors away from the terror known as the T-virus.
1. I

**The Witching Hour**

* * *

><p><em>December 12<em>_th_

_Fritzlar__, Germany_

_It began with a single cry of protest. _

_The man was angered by his government's reluctance to help the very people who brought them to power. He stood in front of a member of the SPD and cried out for the stability society so desperately craved. They had been pushed, threatened, and starved, their patriotic voices silenced by the company proclaiming to be in their small town with the purest of intentions. Tricell had marched alongside the political figures with a hefty checkbook weighing down their pockets and seduced the commonality with promises of beneficial drugs for affordable prices and everyone__believed them. But local newspapers had caught wind of the horrible epidemic that swept through the American city of Harvardville. Families watched, horrified, as living cadavers swallowed the lives of innocent people. _

_They had no idea what was in store._

_The first public protest began with a man named Owen Lynch – a man who had been affiliated with Tricell and knew what they were capable of. He knew that the company had politicians rolling in their pockets, and they were allowed to break the rules of morality. He stood in the middle of a park and addressed his town about the unspeakable plans taking place behind Tricell's closed doors. For weeks, he rallied against his former employers and shamed the government for their__vile use of the company, until one day, Owen didn't speak at all. No one knew what happened to him, except that his apartment had been ransacked in a conspiracy to cover up his disappearance. _

_The economy worsened, and the crowds begged for assurance from their leaders and parliaments that the horrible depression would end. But the desperation continued. Men were put out on the street with homemade signs, bearing witness to the financial devastation taking over Europe. Mothers would gaze at their children, their young faces pale and hungry. The world was livid with the people charged to protect them from such situations. _

_Thomas Jefferson wrote, "__When the people fear their government, there is tyranny; when the government fears the people, there is liberty." Unfortunately, the government was very much in control of its fear __and they __watched patiently as the slums crowded before their capital buildings. They stood at their windows, smirking at the defiance these people showed and their lack of common sense. The proletariats were stray dogs barking for attention but never receiving a bone for their tribulations. It wasn't until the public became violent that the government began to sweat._

_The strongest __voice that the__common masses __listened to belonged to a man named John Strife. He announced to the world that the days of liberty and justice belonged __in history books, __for no one had seen either __in __years. Strife was the voice the people needed during __those terrible times,__ and he had them convinced that if they banded together, the stability __that was lost__ could be retrieved. He organized a militia of __sorts,__ and slowly but surely, a civil-war broke out. Germany's people were at __odds. Half__ believ__ed __the government would come to __their aid, and__ the other half followed __John Strife's__ volatile trepidations. Battle cries __echoed through__ Germany's cities with promises of what had yet to __come: promises of a new republic in which its people would not be ignored. It wasn't long until Strife had the following he had__ longed for –as well as the monetary funds that could produce the firepower he needed to seize control. Tricell was more than happy to comply. The money in __Strife's __bank __accounts __could land the __terrible __legend known as __the T-virus, and__ for a greater fee, the G-virus as well. Anonymous representatives made the __trade-off,__to avoid alerting the__ U.S. government._

_John Strif__e's agenda __was to horrify the citizen__s,__ so that the only option would be to follow him. He called in a few favors from traitorous men working for the __German government,__ and twenty- four hours later, a meeting was called in__ Fritzlar's__community hall. John Strife stood __in front of the__courthouse and unveiled the body of one Owen Lynch. The people gasped as they watched their public speaker's corpse grind his rotted teeth and moan the song of the undead. His __cadaver moved like__ a __human, but__ the gaping __bullet-__hole__s,__ blackened __with powder-burns, told them__ otherwise. Strife proclaimed that this was what their elected officials did to those who exercised the words Owen Lynch had. He said __they __would all end up like Owen if change did not occur. And change was right around the corner. Chains kept the walking dead man from attacking the __public,__ but a single shot from an unidentified individual released Owen from his bindings. His filmy-grey eyes rolled to the side as he threw his body upon the first unsuspecting stranger__. A man fired five rounds into Owen and ran to the victim's side. He didn't realize the rules of killing off the infected, and he too fell__ to the virus. Several moans echoed into the mob and they watched, horrified, as the infected flooded into their once peaceful lives. _

_It took twelve days for Germany to fall into the rotting hands of the infected. In twelve days, mass hysteria broke out, until the crazed crowds fell into the depths of hell known as the T-virus. They died off quickly, leaving the smarter ones who had invested their money in arms and ammunition. A small militia was once again formed and sided with the German military. These small bands of rural townsfolk cleansed the __zombies from the streets, leaving the better-prepared armies to defend the larger cities. For a while, it seemed __as if the public had regained __control of both__the __outbreak and the __tyrannical government that had led their flock astray__. But new enemies __caught wind of the T-__virus,__ and negotiations were impetuously set up. Before long, a new disaster befell Germany: the Lickers. They were an abomination; mutated versions of the walking dead that had a frightening hunger for human flesh. They were fast and stayed near the bigger cities with a vast food supply._

_With the new monstrosities plaguing the country, we fell. __No army could__ keep up with the __Lickers,__ and it seemed that new ones sprouted up every day like bad weeds. It wasn't long until Germany's major cities: Berlin, Hamburg, Frankfurt, and Munich__lay buried underneath charred rubble. The once magnificent monuments that had played such wonderful parts in history are now housed by the dreadful things humanity created. The streets are filled with the repulsive stench of decaying corpses – some walking and some not. Ash and embers light up the night sky as stars are a thing of the past; folklore to tell the children of later generations –if there are any. _

_The BSAA had been dispatched at the first signs of the outbreak; since they __were __trained to deal with bio-weapons. It __was decided__ that a small group of BSAA __soldiers would venture deeper__ in the continent to retrieve people of special interest __including: BSAA__ officials, Terra Save representatives, and elected officials who had convened to meet prior to the outbreak. This report shall conclude with the confession that I have no intention of following the orders given to me. I have received notice that my family is residing in __Gudensberg, although__ I fear my brother has already been picked up by the Spetsnaz for __questioning in regards to his __work __with __the T-virus. I realize there will be consequences if I make it to Gudensberg and come back alive and I accept all penalties and/or termination of my position within the BSAA._

_-A.S._

* * *

><p>Leon Kennedy folded the tattered piece of paper and slid it into his jacket pocket. The one-page report was dated two weeks ago, and since then, news of the horrific events documented by the lone piece of paper had been flooding in. Leon had received the letter from Claire Redfield, who, in turn, retrieved it from an unnamed individual. There had to be more information lying in the confines of that manila folder, but this particular page had been torn out and stapled to a scribbled address not far from Leon's destination.<p>

Leon sighed and leaned his head against the aircraft's fuselage. He desperately wanted to help this person, but the fact that Claire was hiding the file from him and refused to tell him anything more than a few minor details unsettled his usually cool demeanor.

"You only have 24 hours to get in and get out with the subject at hand before the virus is dealt with by professionals."

Leon glanced at the man in charge of the entire mission – General Edwards. He was promised that they wouldn't deal with Germany like they had with Raccoon City. There were still civilians fighting for their lives down there. General Edwards watched Leon crinkle his eyebrows with worry and ran a rough hand over his clean shaven face before placing an unlit cigar in his mouth.

The General chuckled and shook his head."No bombs. The other branches of the BSAA have volunteered their services. They will go in and take out the Lickers before starting on the outbreak north of here. After that, they will set up containment bases and checkpoints and complete two objectives: quarantine those who fail their infection tests and relay those who do pass to another checkpoint before transporting them to Russia for safekeeping."

"Sir, I have to ask. Why did the BSAA wait so long before dealing with this outbreak?"

The General clicked his tongue, shook his head and replied, "Son, some things are just better left alone."

Leon shuffled through the file folder that contained his own assignment: a man named Charles Westcliffe, a BSAA advisor. He was top priority as far as the U.S. government was concerned. Their rendezvous point was the top of an apartment building. Charles' last phone call had been made less than four blocks from there. Leon would have enough time to find him and secure their location. The apartment didn't have many infected hanging around, which made Leon's job a bit easier, and most Lickers had been attracted to the escalating violence closer to the city. It was a scene that Leon had played out many times before; he just hoped it went smoothly.

Well as smooth as a T-virus outbreak can get.

The copter hovered briefly over the rooftop and allowed Leon to descend upon the rough tar. The fire escape would be his main exit and as long as there were no Lickers to distract him, then entrance to the streets would be simple. He immediately noticed the small group of infected cadavers huddling on the opposite side of the street, but they were slow compared to other monstrosities he had encountered over the years. His pace was rushed, and his eyes remained focused on the darkened street corners and barely-lit walkways. He had memorized the direction before his trip and knew the road signs and back alleys by heart. At the rate he was going, Charles would be warm inside the executive plane cockpit in no time at all.

Leon paused before another street. Claire had briefly confirmed that an encoded phone call had been intercepted by American officials just hours before Leon had received his mission. The strangers claimed to be taking refuge in a loft apartment and had been in correspondence with Charles off and on for most of the night. Leon would gladly take on any survivors, as long as they didn't compromise the lives of others. Without a second's hesitation, he confirmed the location of the phone call and made his way through the maze of dark alleys. Occasionally he would run into the loose pack of infected individuals but they tended to stay closer to the combat taking place north of town. The Militia's shouting were like banging dinner bells. Leon grinned inwardly as a shadow fled past dusty windows on the top floor. The building just happened to be his target.

The apartment was planted over a small bakery that could've very well been built in the late 18thcentury. The front door was locked from the inside, but it wasn't much of a setback. Using his right shoulder, he broke through the heavy wooden door and quietly shut it behind him in case any walking dead had heard him enter. The lower level curtains were closed, so that the outside world couldn't see inside the bakery. It was a simple but smart move, and Leon expected the group to have at least one individual experienced enough to know basic concealment. He made his way to the kitchen. Several pots and pans were scattered across the floor and the back door was lying wide open, allowing a brisk wind to cool off the interior. Leon found the blatant flaw odd but carefully made his way over to the back door and locked it. He scanned the room until he found the small entryway snuggled into the corner by the pantry. A row of metal canisters and glass trinkets were strung across the open doorway, and once again, he had to give mental props to the person who kept coming up with these simple tactics. Leon ducked under the makeshift alarm and headed upstairs with his trusty pistol steadied in front of him.

The bakery's second floor housed several smaller rooms that the owners probably rented out when business slowed. The rooms could hide several zombies or none at all. He slid across the opposite wall with his gun ready for any infected. He had just reached the end of the hall when he heard a slight rustle from inside the last room. Leon could feel his heart pulsating as adrenaline rushed through his body. Moments like these, those incredibly tantalizing minutes right before the ultimate rush of an attacking cadaver created a euphoric feeling for Leon. He loved the calm before the storm and sighed as he reached for the doorknob.

The door crashed open and a carcass fell to the ground in a rotting heap. Its shoulders rolled back as it rose from the wooden floor. Its low moan echoed through the halls. Leon raised his pistol to take aim but realized that the creature's attention was still on the room it had been kicked out of. Was someone in there with it? He didn't have to wait for an answer. The sickening sound of metal slicing through brain matter quieted the corpse's mournful howl, and it fell to the ground, mouth still gaping from its hungry groan. Another pair of heavy boots crossed the room, and a shadow walked out into the hallway, completely oblivious to Leon's presence. The silhouette held the soft curves belonging to a woman's body and slowly crouched to retrieve the menacing knife which protruded from the zombie's skull. Leon lowered his weapon and made his way to the stranger, who was now wiping her blade across the zombie's torn shirt. Leon had barely opened his mouth to speak when the woman turned on him, her lean arm flying up to his face. His defensive training kept her from making physical contact and he grabbed her wrist and twisted her around so her back was facing him.

She desperately tried to slip out of Leon's grasp, but it was a hold that managed to tangle-up men twice her size. Every time she twisted in his grip, he simply strengthened his control. She grunted in frustration. He didn't know what angered her more: the fact that she was defenseless, or the fact that it was a man disabling her. A second wind came through her and she curled her ankle behind his and pushed off the wall with her left leg. They both went down.

Leon's breath fled his lungs as his back hammered the floor's thick wooden planks. He immediately let go of the woman, and she quickly rolled over to her dropped knife. Within a breath's time, the tip was pointed to his throat as she hovered over him.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't slit your throat", she said in a thickly laced Russian accent.

She swallowed hard as the click from his pistol sounded through the hall. He gently prodded her abdomen. "That's a pretty good reason."

Her eyes were dark and wild and could've been the muse for the statement 'Hell hath no fury.' She slipped her knife back into its leather holster and held her hand out. Leon clasped her wrist as she pulled him into a standing position.

"What's your name, comrade?"

"Leon Kennedy. And you are…?"

"Aleksandra Smirnov." He stared at the large patch adorning her khaki pants and suddenly put two and two together. 'A.S' had to be more than a coincidence in this situation.

"You're with the BSAA?"

She nodded.

"I didn't think the BSAA trained with techniques like that."

She grinned an impish smirk and proudly tossed her white-blonde hair behind her shoulder. Leon winced as he caught sight of a large scar starting from the apple of her cheek and ending just underneath her ear. This woman had put in some serious field time.

"They don't. My father was Spetsnaz. Women aren't allowed in their world, so I opted for the BSAA. My father was more than happy to share his fighting skills to ensure my safety. Are you here because you heard our call?" She must have decided that the conversation had gone too far and reversed the roles of interrogator and interrogated.

"Yes and no. My orders were to get Charles Westcliffe, but a friend mentioned the call, and the address just happened to be scribbled on this paper given to me, so I had to make a stop. Are there others with you?" Leon grabbed a breath from recalling Claire's distinct orders to make this checkpoint a priority. Obviously, it wasn't the Russian woman she had been worried about, for he was fairly certain that Aleksandra could take care of herself. So why was there a need of urgency in Claire's voice earlier?

"Four, including myself – one injured man, another female, and my eight year-old niece."

A small terrified scream from the third story delayed the talk for now. Aleksandra's eyes widened in horror and she immediately reached for the silver plated pistol resting at her hip. She had successfully reached the second step when she felt Leon's hand yank at her elbow.

"You don't know how many are up there," Leon whispered. Both sets of eyes wandered up to the noise above them. _Thump…creak…thump. _

"My niece is up there." She shook him from her arm and treaded upstairs. Leon checked the number of rounds in his own pistol and sighed. His mission would have to take a minor detour for now.


	2. II

"_My greatest sin will be the part I played in creating this horror." _She could see him so clearly; his once handsome features battered by the infected and his usually charming smile warping into a sick grimace as the virus took over his body. His back arching up angrily and his eyes shooting open to reveal the deathly grey film: these were the images that kept her up at night. And all she could picture now was her niece's sweet face gnawing on some poor victim, her mind succumbing to the virus.

Her vision blurred as adrenaline took over. She heard the childish whimpers in the corner and a man's panicked whispers. Rotting flesh hit her nostrils at once. Decaying matter never unsettled her stomach unless it was hot, but she seemed to be extra sensitive to it tonight. Instinctively, she fell to one knee with her arms extended before her. The old splinters tore at her khakis' tight thread count and into her skin. Everything was happening so fast - the screams and the frenzy and the looming figure ahead of her.

It was his fault. The blood was on his hands. If John Strife had never unleashed the T-virus upon this country then this wouldn't be happening. Her finger shook against the trigger. It was because of Strife that the people she loved were in danger. It would only take one shot. One shot and she could rid the world of this horrible creature. She squeezed the trigger, and her vision went white.

It was an odd feeling to have all her senses alive and at full attention except her eyesight. She could hear the sickening crack erupt when the bullet impacted the skull, and the body's dull thump to the floor. There was a moment afterwards where not a single breath was taken in fear that the entire moment hadn't happened at all. Her heart was beating to a shaken rhythm forced upon her by the scene's electricity. Had she hit her intended target?

"You fucking cretin! You almost shot me," Strife exclaimed.

She licked her lips and drew a deep breath into her hungry lungs. Leon was beside her now, his own gun drawn and ready to fire

"Nice shot," Leon said blandly.

Aleksandra's eyes followed the path before her and right up to John Strife's lanky, cursing frame. Behind him was a decrepit form that used to resemble a teenage girl.

She stood up and whispered, "I missed."

She watched Leon's eyes flick to her. Had he heard her whisper? She quietly went through all the actions of a maternal figure: patting her niece's head, hushing her in a warm tone laced with her native Russian, and claiming that everything was alright at the moment. But she still kept Leon in the corner of her eye. He was studying her like she was the virus itself; appalled and curious.

_"You're so cold, I sometimes wonder if you are capable of any emotion at all."_ The accusation had come from someone dear to her, but they were wrong…to an extent. The BSAA trained all their new recruits how to contain a situation like the German outbreak. They were shown pictures from lab tests showing the toll the T-virus could take on a human being. They were warned about the dangers of infection and trained to deal with them appropriately. But the BSAA never mentioned that these creatures were once human. They had lives before becoming infected. They had families and traditions. They were in the middle of first loves and old romances. They cried and smiled. They were…human at one point. She crossed the room, dropped to her knees beside the body, laid her pistol beside her leg, and began to recite the Lord's Prayer. The child followed word for word.

A persnickety scoff came from John Strife's position on the floor.

"She does this every so often. I keep telling her that she's already breaking a commandment by killing the damn things."

Aleksandra's shoulders tensed up. Her faith had been tested quite a bit the last few days, and the last she wanted to hear was John Strife's comments on her Catholic upbringing.

"Technically, they're already dead. She's putting them to rest," Leon said. "Aleksandra, we need to move. The gunshot may have alerted more infected."

She nodded and spouted a few orders to the girl in Russian. Her eyes searched the room as the child zipped up her jacket and pulled a dark messenger bag over her own body.

"Strife…where's the woman?"

Strife winced as he pulled a bandaged leg over so he could stand with his good one. Aleksandra completely ignored the pained grimace.

"She took off when you heard the thing downstairs," Strife muttered through clenched teeth.

"That would explain the door left open," said Leon.

Aleksandra's dark eyes were instantly on Leon; bewildered and angry. She mumbled something before cussing in Russian. She already had her niece's small hand and was beginning to lead the child towards their exit when she tossed a glance back to Leon.

"You might want to grab him…" she said over her shoulder. The hatred sliced through the air like a hot knife through ice. One thing was for certain – Aleksandra truly despised John Strife.

* * *

><p>Most of the infected had congregated at the bakery's front door. They had decided that they would use the fire escape to maneuver down to the back alley. From there, they would make the block and come around to Leon's interest point. It seemed like a simple enough plan.<p>

They managed to climb down the bakery's fire escape with great ease. Aleksandra took to the front while Leon guarded the back once they were on the streets. Leon would need an experienced set of eyes to see what was ahead of them while he watched for what could be following them.

Leon shifted the direction towards Charles Westcliffe. He had already spent too much time getting this small group to safety, and now he had his own operation to see to. Aleksandra plucked her niece from the ground and carried her closely at her side.

"Where are you going?" Her voice was knotted with worry and it stopped Leon's determined stride for a moment.

"I told you, I have to retrieve Charles Westcliffe and head to my rendezvous point. I would've been there by now if Claire hadn't sent me to you."

"Claire Redfield is the one that sent you?" This time, the confusion etched on Aleksandra's face was blatantly clear.

Leon nodded and noted the sudden paleness in her cheeks. Her pace became hurried as she nudged him towards the building she had last received a signal from. It wasn't the address he had been given.

"I don't understand." He re-checked the map on his phone. "Why would the BSAA give me wrong directions?"

"I'm sure it wasn't intentional," John muttered from Leon's side. "We spied Mr. Westcliffe making a mad dash to a new building yesterday morning."

Leon turned towards Aleksandra, her dark eyes following his movements cautiously.

"You've kept in constant contact with the government…did you not report the change in his location?" A single eyebrow arched up as she reminded Leon that she reported every detail until the batteries ran out on the cheap radio.

* * *

><p>The group continued silently through the alleyways until they reached the back of the building Charles was last seen at. They opted for the rickety fire-escape once more, since the main streets had grown in the infected numbers. Looming in the distance was a creature smaller than a Licker but faster than most of the cadavers walking about. Light from a flickering lamp showed the creature for what it used to be: a police officer's K-9. His harness was still tightly bound to his shredded torso, although some parts were tattered from his previous battles with infected. His bloodied teeth gnashed as he staggered forward. Aleksandra kept an eye on him as she quietly raised the ladder. They were safe, as long as they stayed on the first level or higher. She doubted the German Sheppard's ability to jump higher than normal, but she wasn't going to take any chances. Crimson saliva pooled around his mouth and fell to the street with a grotesque dripping.<p>

There was a nearby dumpster that was at the perfect height to jump to the fire escape. Aleksandra prayed that the dog wasn't smart enough to realize the same thing she had. The metal rocked back and forth as the child and John Strife were pushed onto the roof. The dog was growling louder now, and she feared that his snarling would bring more infected about. If she tried to move the dumpster, there was a chance that he would notice her plan and attack. There was no possible way that she was faster than that animal. The other possibility was that she could go ahead and scale the fire escape and take her chances on the animal forgetting its training when going up slanted ladders.

She bit her lip.

"Tyotia, it's your turn now!" Aleksandra's stare faltered as she heard her niece's high pitched whisper. The dog was already sprinting by the time she had decided on a plan. She propelled a leg through the bar siding and kicked at the dumpster with every bit of muscle she could muster. Without turning for a second glance, she made a mad dash for the ladder. The screeching metal caused her heart to freeze as she rolled against the second level's flat surface. Staring at her from beneath the metal curtain was the German Sheppard, its lips curled into a hungry grin. It circled a bit before laying its front paws on the bars.

"Govno." Of all the dogs in all the world and she had to get the one that had learned to climb ladders. She scrambled up the second ladder just as the dog finished the first. A loud creak screamed into the night as both Leon and Aleksandra's eyes darted to the bolts prying themselves from the old brick. She climbed the third ladder and could clearly see Leon's eyes following the animal behind her. She braced herself as the top of the fire escape gave out and tilted, sending the animal to the ground below and Aleksandra sliding to the siding. She collided with the cold metal and grunted as she felt her body leave the surface of the fire escape and her left foot hook into the bars.

"Tyotia," her niece cried out. Leon lunged forward and thrust his hand towards Aleksandra.

Aleksandra cursed under breath and sighed as she dangled above the German Sheppard. Her neck craned about as she felt the dog's hot breath as it tried to snap at her jugular. It would only take another inch or so before he was able to latch on. She watched as the second set of bolts cringed underneath the added weight. If she was going to make a move, she would have to do it fast, as a small crowd of infected had gathered at the commotion brewing. She waited for the dog to slink back to the ground, hurled her top half back to the metal railings, and untangled her leg. Leon was just a few feet above her. His own body was sprawled across the ledge of the roof, his fingers stretching to get a bit closer. She climbed up the swaying fire escape until she could balance on one of the railings that hadn't succumbed to gravity. She took a gulp of air and jumped for Leon's hand.

A small yelp sounded as the fire escape landed on top of the infected dog. Aleksandra peered at the man whose hand she was swaying from. His fingers were wrapped tightly around her wrist as he motioned for her other hand. At that moment, Aleksandra was very thankful Leon Kennedy. With a slight grunt, he pulled her up on the roof.

"When this is all done and over with, I'm suing this building manager. That fire escape couldn't have been up to code," she exhaled with amusement in her voice.

"You should've just shot the thing," John said angrily.

"I was trying to avoid that mess down there," she retaliated, pointing to the small mob feasting on the dead animal. "Sorry you had to see that Stella." She tried to smile at the child, but the poor thing had just witnessed her aunt at the brink of death. She needed a moment. Aleksandra motioned towards the steel door leading inside the building.

"You will probably find Charles Westcliffe that way. I'll wait up here with them."

* * *

><p>Leon walked away from the group, and although he trusted that Aleksandra could handle herself, he was worried about her intentions when it came to John Strife. Her dislike for him bled from her pores like a black slime. He tried to lose the vision he had just created as she tucked a chunk of hair behind her ear and smiled innocently. He had seen the internal battle she struggled with when she aimed at the corpse behind John Strife. And yet, when he turned for one final glance at his small group of survivors he saw a woman completely different from earlier. The adrenaline from the scene before had stirred a rosy hue to her usual pallor. It forced the woman to take a more…warm look. This wasn't the cold soldier he had just met. That tiny fact alone unsettled Leon.<p>

He had been lucky: none of the infected had figured out the entrance to the small warehouse as of yet. Their attentions were on the sounds of the crash outside and the half-eaten dog remains. Charles Westcliffe had chosen the ideal location for Leon in the sense that it was an open area. He could see the entire building from the catwalk the door led onto. Following the metal walkway, he spied the office Charles had last been reported in. He sprinted towards the dark room and knocked twice before forcing the door open with his shoulder.

A stiff foot blocked Leon's path as a pool of blood flooded the cement floor around the corpse. Next to his cold hand was an expensive looking pistol. Charles Westcliffe had succumbed to what many thought was an easier route when the world fell to chaos. Leon cursed under his breath and slammed a fist into the door. Westcliffe knew help was on the way, so why the hell didn't he just wait a few more hours?

He had just placed his hand on the roof's door handle when he heard the hushed German whispers downstairs.

"Hello? I can't help you unless you show yourself."

The whispers rose into a sobbing panic when the survivor must have realized that German was not one of Leon's spoken languages. He scanned the room until a girl, no older than fifteen emerged from behind a large machine in the back. Her clothes were filthy, and dirt matted her pixie cut. Leon sighed as she looked up at him with tears in her eyes. He didn't save Charles Westcliffe, but someone else sure needed his help. He threw a hand in the air and waved her up while he cautiously watched the area around her. As she reached him, he tried his best to communicate his worry to her: had she been bitten? The teenager shook her head and lifted her coat sleeves to prove it. The rest of her body showed no injuries either.

"I'm Leon." He pointed to his chest.

The girl responded by pointing to her own body and stating, "Ich bin Ilda."

A frightening wail lit up the night. Leon grabbed Ilda's hand, burst through the door and interrupted quite the scene. John Strife was backed into a corner, sobbing with arms up in surrender. Aleksandra was a few feet in front of him, her gun aimed and ready to fire. John's eyes scurried towards Leon and he started pleading his case.

"She's lost it! The bitch has completely lost it!"

Leon tucked Ilda behind him and eyed Aleksandra. She didn't even glimpse at him. Every single muscle in her body was moving in an offensive maneuver.

"He's vomiting up something weird. He's infected."

As if on cue, John Strife doubled over and retched up dark bile. It was thicker than blood but held the same color. Aleksandra remained calm as she positioned herself for a clear shot. John spit out the remaining substance and screamed out a few choice words.

"She's fucking insane, man! It's not a fucking bite!" Veins on his neck; bulged from obvious anger and frustration. Aleksandra, on the other hand, remained again cold and alert.

"Aleksandra! He hasn't turned yet. We need to be sure." Leon didn't like John Strife either, but he wasn't a murderer.

"There are other lives to consider. I'm not going to take any chances!" He could tell from the eerie calm in her eyes that her mind was already made up. Leon didn't expect her to ask for his approval or consent. He didn't even have time to react as John Strife lurched up from his crouching position and started towards Aleksandra.

"You want it so fucking badly? Take the damned thing!" He dug around in his pocket as he stomped towards her, finally revealing a bright blue disk case. He threw the piece of plastic at her chest and grinned maliciously when it fell to the roof. Aleksandra's fingers tightened around the trigger as he closed in on her.

"John, back off!" Leon was quick to pull out his own pistol and take aim on the staggering man.

Behind him, he could feel Stella's small frame squeeze in beside Ilda.

"That's all you fucking care about, isn't it? That's what you wanted the whole time! Will it save him though? Will it?"

"JOHN!" Leon's voice boomed across the roof, demanding the other man's attention. John didn't even turn around. His head was against the barrel of Aleksandra's gun, daring her to kill him in front of her niece.

"YOU WILL DIE!" John's voice could have deranged a sane man.

John Strife had made a living off lying to people. He had made a name for himself by using his charm to whip the people into a panic. John Strife gained popularity by talking to the masses. And a single shot silenced him.

* * *

><p>(AN: "Govno" Rough Russian translation for 'shit'.)


	3. III

III

* * *

><p>There was a sick tightening in Aleksandra's stomach as she watched John Strife's face contort to reflect his physical pain. One last angry tear trickled down his sullen cheek, and his mouth remained open for a moment. A soft cloud of breath escaped his lips as he exhaled for the last time, and fell to the ground. Aleksandra's index finger shook around the trigger that she had never pulled.<p>

To her right, she saw Stella's small hands trying to push out the noise from her ears. Her eyes were shut so tightly that Aleksandra feared she would never open them again. The teenager that Leon had brought up from the warehouse was positioned over Stella in a protective hover. Leon's eyes were still on Aleksandra, but the shock on his face seemed to mirror what she was feeling.

A set of heels' light clacking shook her out of her stupor. The heels belonged to a set of expensive looking leather boots that grew increasingly familiar to Aleksandra. It wasn't until she spied the leather jacket and the flawless bob that she recognized the woman. She had been the other survivor picked up by Aleksandra and John – the same survivor that had deserted them not too long ago.

"All that drama and for what?" She stared at Aleksandra with a calm glare and smiled devilishly. This wasn't her first rodeo either. She nodded towards the plastic case. "Well go on…it _is _what you wanted, wasn't it? I don't want to believe that I wasted a bullet on something that held no importance."

Aleksandra kneeled down until her knee grazed the frigid roof. The woman chuckled lightly and took a step forward. Ada's audible gasp caused Aleksandra to peer up at her. She had to choke back grim laughter as Leon clenched his hand around the woman's wrist.

"Every life is important, Ada – even Strife's." His eyes thinned into dark slits.

Ada turned towards him, her eyes as sharp as ever, and smiled coolly. "I hardly think John Strife was worth anything more than the pennies in his pocket."

That small comment shook Aleksandra to her core. It wasn't because of the dark undertones in her voice, but because Aleksandra agreed. If Ada hadn't pulled the trigger for her, Aleksandra would have eventually given in to the anger inside.

"To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?" Leon still had control over Ada's wrist but relaxed his grip when she pushed her pistol into the holster resting on her hip.

"Call it a paid vacation…" She shrugged him off and rubbed the area that now held the red remnants of Leon's hand.

Aleksandra reached across the roof and picked up the blue disk before Strife's cold puddle of blood could drown the valuable item. She immediately walked over to her niece while Leon and Ada continued to bicker. Without much more than a few glances at Leon, Aleksandra quietly dumped the disk into Stella's messenger bag.

"Tyotia…I have the spider feeling again."

Aleksandra sighed and tried to give her niece a reassuring pat on the head. Stella had keen intuition. When she was younger, the foreboding spark that usually hinted something was up scared her to the point that she would have nightmares. Her father would tuck her back in, explaining that spiders must have been dancing in her tummy. Aleksandra was sure it gave the child arachnophobia, but it seemed to calm her down. It could have just been the fact that it was Stella's father telling her.

"Why don't you ask the Russian? She has a knack for getting what she wants."

Aleksandra's eyes jerked up to find Ada stalking towards her with a glint in her eye and a smirk on her face. She hadn't realized that Leon and Ada's conversation had drifted on to herself. Aleksandra held back the urge to spit in the woman's face as Ada gripped her chin and tilted it until Aleksandra's scar was visible to Leon and the two girls. She had never met Ada until she came to Germany and ran into her by complete accident. But it seemed that Ada knew everything about her.

"Kindly remove your hands from my face," Aleksandra growled.

"That is such a terrible scar, Ms. Smirnov. It doesn't look like it was meant to kill you though." Aleksandra kept her gaze on Ada. She was quickly crossing a thin line that others never made it back from. She had kicked ass for a lot less than a petty comment like Ada's. She unstrapped the dagger from her thigh and held it up to Ada's wrist. Her reflection was caught perfectly within the blade.

"Either remove it by choice or I will remove it for you."

Leon cleared his throat and cautiously eased his body between the two females.

Ada smiled once more and pulled a phone from her jacket pocket. "I get the hint, Kennedy," she said. "Besides, we don't want another event like Marseille."

Aleksandra winced at the memory associated with Marseille. Ada had obviously studied her file and was kept up to par about the incident. It was something Aleksandra desperately tried to forget but was reminded of every time she glanced in the mirror or felt a lover's finger trace the rough edges of her scar.

The sound of a chopper's blades caused everyone on the roof to search out its location. Ada clicked her phone shut and waved a gloved hand to signal where they were. When they had first found Ada, she was wandering around the town with no weapon and relying on the shadows to protect her. She told them a helicopter was coming to get her, and that if they ensured her safe passage, she would guarantee them a seat on the chopper. Strife didn't trust Ada from the get-go, but perhaps she had kept her end of the bargain after all.

A thin rope ladder danced down towards the roof as Aleksandra hurried Stella onto the rough material. The child was petrified of heights, but a BSAA soldier was willing to meet her halfway up. She waited for Ilda to scurry behind them before allowing Ada up as well. It was only fair that her majesty went up first.

Aleksandra turned towards Leon and motioned for him to go up.

"Ladies first," he yelled with a half smirk.

Aleksandra couldn't tell if he was trying to tease her or just put her in good mood with the idea of leaving this forsaken town. For his sake, it had better be the latter. She had just cleared the halfway mark when she felt the ladder shaking violently below. Aleksandra closed her eyes and waited for the second sharp pull before finding the courage to spy on what horrible creature was lurking below them.

She remembered her first encounter with a Licker very clearly. The BSAA had spent an entire month showing new recruits the black and white lab photos seized from Umbrella files. They were all the same: the cannibalistic smile, the mutilated body bending every which way, and the vile tongue that lashed out towards its victims. Every recruit had seen photos of these monsters, but nothing could prepare a person for when a group of Lickers ambushed them.

Aleksandra gripped the rope ladder until her knuckles turned white. Marseille held more memories than she cared to dig up.

The rope shook beneath her body as Leon struggled with the Licker's whip-like tongue. Aleksandra snaked a leg around the ladder and extended a hand towards the man who had just saved her own life not too long ago. His warm fingers tickled Aleksandra's as she leaned down further to grab a hold of his thick leather jacket. Her own fingerless gloves slid against the material as her fingernails drove into the body beneath it. She could see the Licker burying its claws into the roof and pulling with unbelievable strength.

Aleksandra had just wrapped her fingers around Leon's wrist when she noticed the Licker's new plan. The abomination unwrapped its tongue from the ladder and instead opted for Leon's ankle. She watched helplessly as he tried to kick the thing from his body but was finally torn from the rope ladder. He fell to the ground and rolled away from the monster. Aleksandra scampered up the rest of the ladder and motioned for Stella. The child understood and tossed the messenger bag down to her aunt. Immediately, Aleksandra's hands began to rummage through the bag just as the first shots from Leon's gun were fired.

Aleksandra smirked as her hands slid over Phantom 8's cool metal shell. With a wink in Stella's direction and the messenger bag slung over her shoulder, Aleksandra climbed back down to the roof. The Licker's attention was fixated on Leon as he meticulously dodged the monster's mutated tongue. His death defying dance wouldn't allow him a clear shot, and time wasn't on his side. Aleksandra pulled out the small crossbow followed by the nickel plated bolts, tipped with arrow heads designed specifically for neutralizing Lickers. The arrow wasn't much to brag about, but the hungry blade that adorned it was a deadly little beast. When impacting with a soft target, the arrowhead would expand – leaving quite the massacre around the multiplied blades. Her commanding officer once said it worked like a saw to inflict the best damage.

Aleksandra loaded the weapon and sent a single shot towards the Licker's head. That was the best advantage of the Phantom 8: it was silent.

The arrow glided through the air and pierced the Licker's skull with a revolting crack. The arrow head twisted clockwise and for a moment, the creature howled in pain before falling to the roof. The wound leaked the horrors of the T-virus as the Licker twitched one last time.

Leon bent over to catch his breath and waved quiet thanks towards Aleksandra. "Took you long enough," he said between breaths.

She smirked her cocky Russian smile and retrieved the arrow from the Licker's head. "I like to make an entrance."

"And what do you call that?" He pointed to the weapon in her hand.

She gazed back at him with wide eyes, feigning innocence and naivety."My entrance…"

Their small dose of laughter was cut short by the rope ladder's descent to the roof. The chopper's lights went dark as it veered off to the right, towards the containment base. Aleksandra burst into a sprint, and she chased the helicopter until her foot caught the edge of the roof. Ada Wong peered down from her place in the copter and waved.

* * *

><p>"Blyad!" Aleksandra's irate scream could have possibly wakened the dead, had they not already been crowding the streets. Leon had never taken the time to study Russian, but he was positive that the word leaving her lips wasn't common for a young woman to speak so boldly. Ada was no stranger to the art of deception, and he was well aware that her appearance meant trouble. But that didn't make it sting any less when he watched Aleksandra fall to her knees and hug her torso in an attempt to squeeze everything out. It wasn't until he saw her shoulders shake that he realized she was crying. She had been stone cold, with the exception of a smile here and there, up until now.<p>

Leon dropped down beside her."Ada is conniving by nature. It's always a gamble when it comes to trusting her. At least Stella is already on her way to safety."

Aleksandra shook her head, sending strands of white blonde hair into her face "And who will be there waiting for Stella? It won't be my father! And it won't be Sascha!"

Leon gripped her shoulder. She needed to pull herself together. "You don't know that they're dead yet."

Aleksandra's head snapped towards Leon. Her mouth formed a livid grimace as her eyes lit up with anger. "I know they're not dead. It's not…you don't…if Claire is the one that asked you…" She shook her head in her hands.

Leon was even more confused than when he had first met Aleksandra, but he stayed crouched beside her until a low rumble grabbed his attention.

* * *

><p>The first growl didn't necessarily put Leon on edge. It sounded like a starving stomach was trying to scream through its hunger pains. But then he spotted the set of large claws creep over the edge of the roof, the metallic talons piercing the tar and concrete underneath like a pin cushion. He gently pulled on the wool fabric of Aleksandra's coat to get her attention. She turned just as the creature came into view.<p>

It wasn't formed like the normal Lickers. This monstrosity was larger with razor sharp teeth fanning out into a sadistic grin. Its tongue was black and the smell of rotting flesh hit their noses at once. The creature's muscles were slick with the fevered sweat brought on by the mutated T-virus, but this particular version held a different hue. Shades of black blue created an almost panther effect to the Licker's body, and Leon twitched his fingers to signal Aleksandra. She must have read the signals correctly because she slipped the Phantom 8 in his palm. The slight click from the metal caused the Licker to twitch in their direction. A regenerated sense of sight obviously wasn't a high priority for this new breed of Licker. Leon then felt the smooth surface of the arrow roll around in his hand as well, and he carefully set to loading the small crossbow. If only he had been a few seconds faster…

The mutated Licker's tongue shot out towards Aleksandra and wrapped around her ankle. It didn't take much for the creature to pull her up in the air, her body dangling like a limp rag doll in front of Leon's target. The outline of his body was upside down and slowly began to swing from side to side like a pendulum. The Licker tossed her into the air once more and let her lean body smash against the roof.

She knew that she had only been a few feet off the ground. She knew the force of the blow would knock the air out of her. She knew these things. But she still felt the tiny tremors of terror flutter underneath her skin as she tried to fill her lungs after the impact. She felt her chest heave and burn with the aching need to breathe. Her heart sped up as she felt her body move against the rough tar, the material scraping against her back like millions of tiny claws. Aleksandra's eyes darted to the other side of the building, where Leon was taking care of a smaller Licker that had snuck its way onto the warehouse roof.

If only the helicopter had been equipped with the proper weaponry to take out these new Lickers. If only she had listened to John Strife's warning about taking on another survivor. If only Ada Wong had let them climb up the ladder instead of leaving them to defend their selves against a mob of Lickers.

'_The problem with 'if onlys', _Aleksandra sighed as she heard her father's voice ease into her mind. _'…they never solve the problem at hand.'_


	4. IV

IV

**October 1, 1998**

_'Breaking news: U.S. announces that Raccoon City has been destroyed by a nuclear missile - More to come shortly._' Aleksandra re-read the yellow writing scrolling below the image of a smoking crater where the Midwest city once stood. Her throat closed up as she choked back tears. Her private school rarely used television except for educational programs, but the principal made a point to roll them in for this shocking story.

A small knock came from the wooden door and Mr. Melikov, the principal, emerged. He bowed his head politely and asked for Aleksandra. She didn't have to be told. She knew what he was going to say when she saw the words 'Raccoon City' scroll across the screen in Russian.

"Aleksandra," he said when they got into the hall, "I have terrible news. Your brother, Dmitri was in Raccoon City today. I'm afraid there are no survivors."

Aleksandra nodded solemnly and asked if she could be excused for the rest of the day. There was no need to ask for such a thing. He explained that Sascha was already in the office waiting for her. She held her chin up and walked through the silent halls as students whispered behind her about the horrid tragedy that fell upon her family. Sascha calmly signed her out and drove her to their home on the outskirts of Moscow.

Every now and then, she would sneak a glance at her older brother and try to imagine that the tear stains on his cheek were from the common cold and not the grief they were both feeling.

Sergei Smirnov was a man taught to feel nothing. No pain, no emotion. That was his job. But when he would come home to his family –Dmitri, Sascha, and Aleksandra, he was a completely different man. He would laugh when something was funny and become stern if his children misbehaved. But on this particular day, as Sascha pulled into the gravel drive, Aleksandra saw just how old her father had become. His head was cradled by a pair of worn hands that had seen the bloodiest parts of battle but were restless when it came to receiving that particular call from the American government.

Aleksandra calmly opened the car door. She let her bag fall to the gravel when her father's face came into view. His beady brown eyes were bloodshot, and his usual five o'clock shadow was now a full grown beard. This wasn't the former Spetsnaz operative that had served his country for over twenty five years. He stood from the porch's bottom step, staggered across the lawn, and stopped a few feet from her. This was a man who had just received news that his oldest son was dead. There was no body to bury and lay to rest. This was a father grieving without the chance to physically say goodbye.

"Come,solnyshka..."

Aleksandra sighed as she heard the term of endearment her father only used for her. Without a second's hesitance, she flung her body into the arms of the only man she felt protected her from the world.

And together, they mourned Dmitri.

* * *

><p>Aleksandra rummaged for her dagger. Mustering what little energy she had left, she sat up and stabbed the Licker's tongue. The Licker howled in pain while blood and saliva oozed from its maniacal grin, and she couldn't help but smile back. From behind the monster, a crackling splat echoed along the rooftop, followed by the small buzz of the Phantom 8's arrowhead. The Licker fell to the ground as Leon came into view. A few feet to the left was the smaller Licker's stiff corpse. She pulled the arrow from the mess in the Licker's skull and cleaned it on John Strife's shirt. He wasn't very helpful during his time on earth; it was only fair that he was useful in this particular way.<p>

"Aleksandra, we need to keep moving. The infected will learn how to get inside the warehouse and make their way up to us. I don't know about you, but I'd like to stay off their dinner menu tonight."

Aleksandra smiled and inquired as to how they were going to do that without attracting too much attention. Leon pointed to the building next door. It wasn't much lower than the warehouse, and the sloping slate roof seemed to welcome them.

She nodded to Leon and held her breath as he took a running start and made a leap of faith towards the roof. He landed against the slate with a small grunt and motioned for her to follow suit.

Aleksandra could do this. She knew she could. She was a member of the BSAA. Her father was a damn Spetsnaz, for crying out loud. But she could feel her knees shake from exhaustion. She filled her lungs and ran for it. The icy German air embraced her like a cold enemy as she fell towards the slate shingles. She made impact, and her fingernails desperately scratched at the roofing for some kind of opening for her to cling to. Her boots slipped and she instantly felt them slide from underneath. She could hear them fall to the cobblestone alley where dozens of infected had gathered to investigate the commotion they had caused earlier. The image of her body falling into such a horrible pit of death made her stomach turn. She tried her damnedest to cling to something, anything to keep her from meeting a horde of infected. She squeezed her eyes shut just as she felt Leon's bare hand slip past her glove and her wrist. He yanked her up until her body was crushed up against his, both their eyes glued to the pile of blue-grey debris below.

Leon's body was warm and solid underneath her hands. It was comforting to have another human being so close to her. She could even smell the remnants of his cheap aftershave. A smile crept as she inhaled the woodsy scent. It was so familiar and so far away from her at this point. She could feel Leon's breath rustling a few strands of hair, and for a moment she felt like she was back home.

"You seem like the type of woman that unknowingly breaks hearts."

Aleksandra gasped at his words and pulled away from Leon. He seemed unfazed by her abrupt halt.

"We need to find a place to rest," she whispered.

Leon nodded and turned towards the east. In the distance, the soft white light and the low rumble that accompanied modern warfare. They were getting closer to the uprising.

Departure from the roof was easy enough. Most of the infected that had been attracted by the noise stayed near the warehouse. Their decaying minds didn't seem to comprehend that the action had ceased, and even Aleksandra's mishap with the slate shingles didn't bring any large numbers to the house. Occasionally they would run into a lone corpse trying to get to the rest of the rotting crowd, but they were no challenge for Leon or Aleksandra.

It had been five days since Aleksandra lost her company to the Lickers, found Stella, and also, since she had last slept. Occasionally, she would find a secure spot and doze off for a few moments but the slightest rustle would wake her up. It was becoming increasingly difficult for her to keep up with Leon, and it slighted her pride to think that she couldn't keep up with a man. They just passed an antiques shop when Aleksandra leaned against the brick wall.

"Leon, we need to stop." She watched his eyes scan over her face and could only imagine the dark circles under her eyes, or the exhausted pallor her cheeks had taken on. He pointed to a nearby hotel and Aleksandra had never felt more grateful.

Aleksandra combed through the linen closet at the end of the hall and found a wool blanket, still soft from its last washing. She inhaled the sweet smell of lilac and baby powder, and for a moment, could imagine herself in her own bed with the covers wrapped tightly around her in a comfortable cocoon. She offered the blanket to Leon who shook his head and said that he would take first watch. Aleksandra sighed and lay down with her back to the wall. Sleep came easily.

* * *

><p>Dreams were a source of terror for her. There were nights where she imagined herself walking through Sascha's abandoned home. Age made the house creak and moan and caused the small hairs on her arm to stand on end. Shadows played mind games with her as branches danced against the windows. At the end of the hallway she would find Stella's bedroom door, her name displayed in glittery pink letters. A small rustle would make her hold her breath and squeeze the doorknob. Upon entering, she would finally see that she had come too late. Stella's mother is sitting, mangled, in the corner; her mouth agape with the horror she had to witness before her own death. In the middle of the room, squeezed in between a small teddy bear and a set of bloody footprints is Sascha. His features are twisted in a terrified grimace and his bright brown eyes are glazed over with a grey film and staring directly at Aleksandra. Crouched beside him is little Stella. Her shoulders move at an inconsistent pace, and Aleksandra can't tell if she's crying or shuddering from the gruesome sights around her. And then a flash of lightning fills the room and she sees the scene for what it really is: Stella's grey pallor, blood-crusted mouth, and the putrid bite mark on her arm. It all points to the movement Aleksandra had taken as remorse. Instead, her niece is feasting on her father's intestines; a foul buffet for the stomachs of the infected. Stella's sickly eyes fall on the beating heart standing in the doorway and she rises from her meal. In an instant, she's rushing towards her aunt, and Aleksandra raises her weapon and fires. Just then, the faces change, and suddenly Stella's brown eyes are blue, and her ragged mess of hair is a fiery red. This isn't Stella. She shot a child.<p>

"She was infected, Al." She shot a child. The child crawled over her skin like a thousand ants.

"There was nothing you could do to prevent this." She shot a child.

* * *

><p>Aleksandra stirred from her sleep as the first rays of morning seeped into the small lobby. Leon was still sitting beside her, his head resting against his chest. His hair made a thick curtain between his eyes and the outside world, and Aleksandra feared that at some point, he had been bitten. She reached for her pistol and put some distance between his body and her own.<p>

"Leon…?"The quiver in her voice gave way to the fear she was feeling. She didn't want to be alone, not now. She raised her voice a little more the second time and waited for any signs of infection. He stirred slowly, and jumped back when he saw the barrel of her pistol pointed in his face.

"Son of a – watch where you're pointing that thing!"

She exhaled and returned her pistol to its holster. Old Coke bottles and copper pans littered the only two doorways in the lobby. He must have dozed off during the night with the assurance of Aleksandra's makeshift alarm. She folded the blanket even though there was no one to mind the mess; habit, she supposed. Leon stood, stretched and seemed to crack every bone in his body until every muscle moved in a fluid motion. His eyes were focused on the few rays of sun that crept through the gloomy sky, and Aleksandra seized the opportunity to share the sight with him.

"What are we going to do now?" Her question was honest. Her mission had long been abandoned. And now Stella was safe at a containment base with fellow BSAA. So who was there left to save? She already knew the answer to that. Leon sighed beside her as the sunlight disappeared behind the dark clouds.

"Our priority is to get to the containment base and make contact with Headquarters," Leon said.

Aleksandra recalled the lights and smoke from last night. The containment base was just a ways from the action, and Leon was now saying they had to go through it.

"Leon, there's a war breaking out and you want to charge right through the middle of it..," she asked.

He finally turned to her, the usually stoic façade fading to reveal the depth of worry on his face.

"The fighting will give us some cover. Most of the infected will be attracted to the commotion."

Aleksandra opened her mouth to protest, but Leon frowned and added. "You have a better suggestion?"

She clamped her mouth shut and shook her head. As of right now, no, she didn't have a better plan.


	5. V

**The Witching Hour - V**

* * *

><p>The grey sky was thick with silence. The occasional infected corpse would notice Leon and Aleksandra, but they rarely had to use ammo. For a while, the couple walked without striking up conversation. She figured Leon didn't want to bring any more attention to them, so she followed behind, her eyes scanning the dark alleys for any signs of the T-virus. But once the cobblestone streets faded into dirt paths and the buildings became trees, Leon surprised her.<p>

"What happened to your team?"

Aleksandra's eyes darted towards the usually quiet man. Surely he could think of more productive topics to talk about. He placed his pistol in its holster and stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets. Leon Kennedy was no longer an American operative on a mission. He was now just an ordinary man taking a long walk with a woman. Aleksandra copied his own movements and widened her steps to fall in by his side.

"We were assigned to exterminate any signs of the T-virus and retrieve people of special interest. But reports with accurate numbers didn't come in until after we had deployed. They tried to get a hold of us on the satellite phone but by then, our ranks had been depleted until there were just five of us." Aleksandra kept her head down as she recalled her commanding officer's scream when a Licker pulled him to his death in a small ravine.

"And Stella…" Leon asked quietly.

"It was always my plan to go find my family. I sent a letter to the BSAA, reporting the situation. Stella was the only one left at the house. My brother was already picked up by the Spetsnaz." She watched Leon's head turn to her. Aleksandra contemplated if Leon had ever encountered a true Spetsnaz. Or better yet, if he had ever defeated one.

"How do you know that?" Leon inquired.

Aleksandra kicked up a cloud of dirt and smiled nonchalantly.

"Because they already took my father." She walked ahead of Leon and left him with his own thoughts.

* * *

><p>Night approached fast as the war zone finally came into view. Twisted metal that resembled cars made a steel barrier on the edge of town. Leon climbed up first and extended a hand towards Aleksandra. They had been kept warm by the leather jacket and Aleksandra found solace in a warm hand. A single gun click killed the happy emotion. From the bottom of the barrier's opposite side, a brutish man with a horrid five o'clock shadow aimed his gun at them.<p>

"Have you been bitten?" he asked cautiously.

Aleksandra stared at the man, and raised her hands."No…I'm BSAA and he's an American agent. We've been separated from our team." It wasn't a complete lie.

She turned her shoulder towards the armed man. He looked for the BSAA patch and grinned when the turquoise, green, and gold stitching was found. The man grasped Aleksandra's forearm and pulled her down to the group below. She turned around to signal for Leon but the other men were already laughing with him at their mistake.

"Forgive us…this war has everyone on edge," the man said apologetically.

Aleksandra nodded and followed the burly man into a tavern. There were numerous soldiers sprawled across the floor in half slumber. Several younger men smiled politely at Aleksandra, and she guessed that it had been a long time since a woman walked through. Leon's boots clumped a steady pace behind her.

He led them down a small corridor and into a room downstairs. It was dark, save the small desk-lamp illuminating various maps on a wooden table. Three men were bent, plotting lines across the battle-front, each with their own distinct specialty stitched across their chests. The blue, grey, and white insignia on the first man alerted Aleksandra that she had German military in her midst. The 'Armee de Terre' badge on the second confessed his French origins. The third was the one who greeted Aleksandra and Leon. He stood before them and stuck out his hand.

"Lieutenant General Frank Parsons…United States Marine Corps."

Aleksandra shook the officer's hand and gave her name and rank within the BSAA.

"It's a pleasure to meet you both. We're told that you lost your unit. We can equip you with enough firepower to see to your getting through the war zone safely, but we ask that the BSAA stay out of our affairs." He handed Aleksandra an American issued M16A4 and a pair of magazines. Aleksandra studied the gun. She had used such a weapon so many times in her life and yet it felt as if she was shooting for the first time. There were still so many questions to be answered. Why were there military branches present when it was the BSAA's job to take care of bio-weapons? And where had the BSAA disappeared to? It was their job to work alongside the military if things got out of control. It was standard protocol. You work together until a solution is found. But they were already being ushered out of the room. Aleksandra pushed another stranger's hand away from her shoulders.

"Sir, why are there different military branches stationed here? I can't help but notice the German, French, and American insignias."

Lt. General Parsons stared at her for a long moment before shaking his head in disbelief.

"You don't know?"

Aleksandra shook her head. She didn't understand what was going on. "You're in for quite the surprise, Ms. Smirnov."

* * *

><p>The door was shut in Aleksandra's face. Leon was already at the top of the stairs, checking his weapon. In a war zone, you wanted to know your weapon was at its peak form. Aleksandra hurried up the stairs.<p>

"Do you know anything about this?" Aleksandra hissed through gritted teeth.

Leon snatched her own weapon away and gave her the M16 he had just checked. Aleksandra felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She was perfectly capable of checking her own weapon.

"I was given a single mission – to bring back Charles Westcliffe. I failed that mission. I was told nothing more by the government." He clicked the magazine into the rifle and exchanged guns once again.

Aleksandra inhaled deeply and almost sighed in frustration.

"Then who told you more?" She watched Leon dig in his pocket for a crudely folded paper and calmly handed it to her. Aleksandra scanned over the paper, immediately recognizing the formal language as her own. It was the report she sent to her superiors.

"How did you get this?" A slight tremor shook the tavern. They were already amongst the other soldiers when the second tremor was felt. Aleksandra stood motionless, reading and re-reading the report.

Leon's eyes stayed on the front door.

"Claire Redfield gave it to me before I left for my mission. She was the one who told me about your whereabouts, remember?"

* * *

><p>It all happened so fast. She knew she heard Leon yell at her to get down, and even felt the impact from his body clashing into her. But she didn't remember the Volkswagen busting through the tavern wall or the terrorized shrieks from outside. But the debris and dust settled around them long enough for the giant figure to make his entrance detected. Aleksandra had seen this mutated body before the prototype was leaked onto the black market. She had seen the grotesque features and the twisted muscle laced around its body when her team had taken hold of an illegal fighting ring. Rich foreigners would buy the mass produced bio weapon and stage a sick sport similar to cock fighting.<p>

She had seen Nemesis before.

* * *

><p>"Oh, God…" She felt Leon's hand wrap around her wrist as they followed the mob down the corridor. Nemesis didn't hesitate to follow, and every once and awhile Aleksandra would hear the horrified yell from one of the soldiers. The tremors became louder and more violent as Leon pushed Aleksandra through the crowd. The river of bodies flooded the downstairs room, and the target on everyone's mind came into view: an underground passageway. Somewhere between the room's entrance and the passageway, Aleksandra lost Leon's grip. She tried to turn and push through but the mass hysteria was too much.<p>

The passageway was wider than she expected, and she eagerly grabbed onto the wooden pillars lining the path. A loud crash told her that Nemesis had broken through. Heads bobbled around her, and it didn't take long for the soldiers' dirty faces to start blending in with their fatigues and uniforms. Rubble from the ceiling dusted Aleksandra's hair as she called out to Leon.

And then she felt it.

The same warm hand that had guided this far was clasped around her fingers, pulling her towards the wave of people filling up the passageway. It was like a maze, every new turn held a new series of passages.

The dark path was illuminated by rapid gunfire; a violent source for light. The ground shook underneath as Leon led her through the old labyrinth. They finally came to a junction and slid into the darkness of their respective corners; silently waiting for Nemesis to pass them by.

And it did.

But with great terror comes great destruction. The World War II – era passages had stood the test of time. They had stood against the forces of war. They had withstood Hitler's tanks and grenades and the airborne Nazi's air raids. The solid oak pillars moaned in pain when Nemesis passed by. The rusted bolts shook in fear and twisted themselves from their wooden shackles. The wooden beams shuddered from years of being infested with termites and struggled to hold tight against Nemesis. Aleksandra felt her heart stop as an aged beam collapsed between them.

Aleksandra hacked and coughed through the grey cloud, her fingers trying to find a hole in the mess between then. There was small hole, amidst the splintered wood and bent nails, that Aleksandra's hand found. She whispered Leon's name, not wanting to draw any more attention to their presence. A gloved hand intertwined its fingers around Aleksandra's and she exhaled in relief.

"Are you alright," he asked through his own gulps for fresh air.

Aleksandra checked over herself and replied with a quick 'yes.'

"We've got to separate. There's no going around this mess. We'll meet back up on the main street." He gently squeezed her hand and then let go. Aleksandra was now alone. She readied her assault-rifle and kept to the passage ways.

Eventually, the earthen path turned into cement. She had found the sewer system. Eagerly, she climbed up the first manhole she found and gently pushed the metal plate up to get a solid view. It looked like another damned alley. The sound of tanks roared nearby and Aleksandra could hear the multilingual yells following.

She heaved herself out from the manhole and checked for any infected.

Scrape, scrape, tssst. Aleksandra aimed her weapon at the limping shadow walking towards her. She waited until a street lamp fell upon the creature before squeezing the trigger.

Aleksandra jumped to her feet. She had to find Leon. It was, of course, an infected man. His skin was a sickly grey, the T-virus' trademark when death lingered nearby. His jaw was hanging loosely, as if someone had tried to fight him off with blunt force. Many people still didn't know how to stop the infected in their tracks, and usually lost their lives because of it. She fired once; a single shot to the head, and the man collapsed to the ground. Aleksandra squinted through the shadows. The man was in uniform. Specifically, he was in a military uniform. His skin was already beginning to rot, meaning he had to have been infected for a while. Why would a military man be this far into infection? In his post mortem grasp was the object making and odd sound while he walked. A tattered arm, pulled from its owner in a horrid attempt to feed. It was the arm that caused Aleksandra to cover her mouth in disgust. The arm had a BSAA badge. And this was a fresh appendage.

* * *

><p>Leon's breath caught in his throat. A tank was rolling nearby to the beat of rogue militia firing haphazardly into the night. Leon pushed himself against the wall as a loud explosion rolled the tank to its side. He waited for a moment, armed with his given weapon and grimaced when he heard a wounded man scream out. Leon ran towards the street and froze when the attacker appeared. A Licker stood in front of the wreckage, his bloodied tongue sensing Leon's presence. To his right, a pack was slithering their way out from the war torn streets. They knew a meal was nearby. Leon took a step back, hoping that perhaps someone from the militia had survived the wreck. The Licker beside the flames launched itself into the air, right above Leon.<p>

Three shots.

It took three shots to take down the Licker. But it wasn't from Leon's gun. A figure stood amongst the wreckage, his features shadowed by the night. Leon raised his weapon. He didn't know this man or whose side he was on. The stranger did the same.

* * *

><p><em>I have given quite a bit of thought to what you asked of me. But I can't do this. I can't do this while my father is who knows where and my brother hides his family in fear. I was offered the mission in Germany and I plan on taking it. Don't ask details and please don't expect me to return.<em>

_-Aleksandra_


End file.
